


Con-Sent

by Okkkay



Series: Con-Sent [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Contract, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lubricant, Other, Sex Toys, Survival, agreement, harvest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 19,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okkkay/pseuds/Okkkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just after defeating the Decepticons, a cargo ship crashes into an asteroid halfway between Earth and Cybertron. To repair the vessel, Wheeljack needs help from the escaped prisoners - with a method that hadn't been used since the war started. Mind the "explicit" warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Solutions and further nuisances

**Author's Note:**

> A rethink of this prompt: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=14863509#t14863509  
> Warnings for sticky and a wide range of consent.  
> Betaed by 12drakon. Thank you!

Just two Earth-days before, Wheeljack couldn’t have imagined that they would be shipping the defeated Decepticons to Cybertron anytime in the foreseeable future; and any of his co-workers could tell that he had a wild imagination. He had to laugh: it was the ‘Cons’ own malice that landed them behind the energy bars. In the final battle, which neither sides intended to be the last, the Autobots raided a Decepticon research facility where they were holding human hostages. As it turned out, the new weapon the ‘Cons were making had neutralized the targets’ repair nanites, but (and this detail was unknown to either parties) it didn’t incapacitate them directly, so the shot Autobots could still beat the Decepticons to scrap.

Only when Blaster had heard Starscream accusing Megatron of senselessly reconverting all their guns into nanite-killers did Optimus Prime’s crew understand the full gravity of the situation: if they attacked at that point, they would find even the most fearsome warriors relatively unarmed. Whether or not they had called off the siege after securing the humans, their nanites would be so reduced that their self-repair would literally take forever. So Optimus called in the last of their reinforcements, risked a final defeat, and got his reward in capturing all the Decepticons on the planet: Megatron, Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Soundwave with four cassettes, the three Insecticons, and even Reflector. The triple-changers escaped to outer space as soon as Megatron’s defeat was obvious. The Constructicons were not so lucky: in order to shake off his pursuers, and to get rid of some dead weight in his hold, Astrotrain dropped them out before they got as far as the Moon.

“I’ll check on Skywarp, back in a moment.” Wheeljack stood up. Now their task was to get this shipment of captured ‘Cons and a cargo-full of energon to Cybertron. Splitting up the prisoners was the only secure way of transporting them. Optimus was, obviously, personally overseeing Megatron’s transportation onboard the Ark. Jazz was responsible for fetching Starscream and Reflector on a ship that was mostly crafted out of Earth materials. Prowl was the captain of the Victory, the former Decepticon warship. His cargo included two Seekers and a looming dark blackmail specialist/third in command.

Wheeljack picked up his scanners and ran a full check on every wall.

“Fuel...” one inmate begged.

“Energon, please....”

“Just a small can of oil? We’ve been in here for five entire orns, and we weren’t properly fueled at launch!”

“Only for my cassettes, if nothing else.”

Wheeljack took a deep in-vent.

“It’s not my fault that we had to load you in such hurry, and you would break out as soon as I switch off the energy rays. No, guys. Sorry. We’re arriving sometime tomorrow, and I called forward so that a galant dose of mid-grade will be waiting for you in your cells.” No security breaches, the orders were clear. And as much as Wheeljack hated to look into those thirsty optics and visors, he would have hated even more to find yet another Autobot shredded by the same mechs. The Decepticons were defeated, the war was over, things would slowly get back into normal. Slowly.

He wondered what the Dinobots were doing on their island. Whatever that was, he’d imagine that as ‘normal’ and use it as a reference point.

Strange that he had to resort to this.

“Query: what next?”

Soundwave was looking at him from the furthest corner of his cell. All four cassettes were inside him to preserve energy. From this angle, Wheeljack couldn’t see the dented back-plates, nor Ravage’s battle damage, but he knew they were there. Every problem was there, even when he wasn’t looking. He hadn’t even seen Ravage, only heard that Soundwave was willing to surrender on the sole condition that he would get to pick up the catformer first. At that time, Wheeljack had more burning issues to deal with and hadn’t asked about the wounds. Now they were stuck on opposite sides of the bars with the no-contact policy in place. Otherwise Wheeljack would have at least asked if he could help, although Soundwave would likely have declined.

“Pardon me?”

“We arrive on Cybertron. Get fuel in the cells.” Soundwave’s voice echoed. “What happens next?”

Wheeljack wouldn’t be the one to make a false promise.

“I honestly don’t know. We will see what we have. As an engineer, all I can promise is that you won’t be left to rust in those cells if there’s another option.”

“Engineer” Thundercracker spat. “You mean we will be collared and reduced to slaves.”

“I mean that’s all I can throw in at the meeting. If somebot has better ideas, it’s not past me to support them. We will work something out.”

“That’s very reass...”

A loud BANNNNG shook the Victory in the middle of Skywarp’s sentence. A moment later, the main energy lines went dark, and the ship started spinning around its longitudinal axis.


	2. Damage reports

Perceptor awoke to a sharp light glowing right into his optics. Was he no longer on the Victory’s bridge?

He looked around, and cursed. He was. He was still in the middle of the bridge, only that meant sitting waist-deep in shattered glass and shards of what used to be the ship’s controls.

Gravity was surprisingly strong for the small planetoid they had landed on. It looked more like a larger rock in an asteroid field. His self-diagnostics were screaming for repairs, but thank Primus there was nothing he didn’t have the supplies for. His nanites would handle the rest.

Then he spit a long, un-Perceptor-ish line of curses. His nanites were dead. No self-repair.

He looked out at their large asteroid / very small planetoid. With a shape so different from usual orbiting space objects, its gravity seemed surreally strong. He was sure there must be some explanation for that.

“Aaaargh...”

Prowl?

“Are you there, sir? I can’t move, but... I will get there...”

“Now is not the time to try and blast my logical circuits!” An irritated, weak, yet reassuringly familiar voice replied. “I lost control of the ship in the asteroid field. I can’t rule out sabotage entirely, but as I read the logs, this ship had navigation issues from the start.”

“We have no Decepti-creeps shooting us right now, so I would rule out sabotage” Perceptor replied. With great effort, he pulled himself to tank mode. From there, it was easier to move around and to drag Prowl out of the remains of the controls. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to transform again for a while. A _long_ while.

Primus, his wounds were not going to heal at all.

He took a deep scan of Prowl; he seemed to be all right save for some repairable wounds – and just like him, he also sported a million smaller scars that the nanites would easily handle if they still had any.

“Guys! Guys, what happened?”

Wheeljack! Wheeljack seemed to be almost uninjured. He only displayed a few dents that could be easily straightened out, and even before that, he’d be able to repair the other two.

They quickly gave him their status reports. Perceptor helped him drag Prowl out from under the remains, then quietly waited as Wheeljack performed the most essential repairs.

“The ‘Cons are all out, in case you wanted to know” Wheeljack informed them.


	3. Safe spots, for the time being

Prowl was reading the reports regarding their vessel, if only to distract himself from the constant pain in his own body. At least, it seemed, the Victory should be able to take off in a few weeks. It wouldn’t be a graceful flight, but they would make it to Junk (the Autobot second-in-command suppressed a bitter laugh of irony) and call for help there. As it stood, the communication system was the only thing beyond repair.

He had seen Skywarp in the morning. When he had onlined, the black-purple jetformer had been digging through the boxed remains of the bridge’s salvagable parts, but the moment he’d noticed the Autobot officer watching him, he vanished with a quiet VOP.

For a moment Prowl wondered where he had found the energy to teleport, but he quickly remembered that Wheeljack had placed large cubes of energon around the wreck. That had been before they had carried the rest of their reserves to what had once been Skywarp’s cell. They had stood guard with loaded weapons until Perceptor had welded the hole in the blocking panels.

Apart from being stranded here with three big and four tiny Decepticons and no nanites for their slowly corroding wounds, the almost-planet fascinated all three Autobots. It was one of the outermost objects in a naturally organized cloud of asteroids, orbiting around their common center of gravity, while the large rock was also rotating around its own axis. When the Victory’s crash-landing spot was pointing away from the center, gravity was almost double of what they were used to on Earth. When the asteroid turned them towards the center, they were almost floating. They had to anchor the Victory to make sure it doesn’t get lost.

The constant shift of gravitation, caused an intense tidal priming which left the surface without atmosphere for half of the day and it had turned the planetoid’s surface into a labyrinth of holes and tunnels. Once the gravity faded for the day, however, a typical methane-hydrogen atmosphere surrounded the mechs, though Perceptor had listed about three dozens other substances he had found. Meanwhile on the ‘outer’ side, where gravity was the strongest, atmosphere was almost nonexistant. Wheeljack had sworn he’d return here one day to continue research. And he would bring Beachcomber along.

If only they were at that point already.

Prowl had removed all outer weapons from the Victory before the ‘Cons would have stolen any. They had all the energon reserves, except for the cubes Wheeljack had offered to the starving ex-prisoners. Prowl initially disapproved of the random donations, but he ceased arguing when Perceptor asked ‘What would Optimus Prime do?’ So instead, Prowl started wondering how to prevent further losses.

He took on patrolling the area. He noted the caves that the Decepticons were most likely to inhabit, and made sure none of the crew would walk into any trap nearby.

Trapping the ‘Cons would be a different matter entirely.

He sank back to the wrecked chair and continued reading the ship’s repair logs. At least the note at the end was hopeful: ‘Come back to the main hall after reading this, Jackie has an idea that might work.’

So he did.

Then, he was riveted to the ground when he’d seen his fellow Autobot holding a piece of metal that could only be from some pervert’s luggage.

“Is that a dildo, or something very creatively disguised as such?” he finally managed.

“This might be our key to getting the ship repaired” Perceptor replied. “There’s an entire set in what we suppose to have been Megatron’s quarters. By the amount of dust on it, we suppose somebot wanted to prank his leader, but then forgot about the entire plan. Perhaps before take-off four million years ago.”

“So why is it important?”

This time it was Wheeljack’s turn to answer. “While nanites are mostly for repairing live metal, there’s also a good amount of literature on their use in self-repair systems of large objects.”

“Like a spaceship” Perceptor specified.

“We are working on repairs as fast as we can, but we could vastly speed it up if we put nanites to work.”

“Which would sound quite reasonable if we had any” Prowl remarked.

“We don’t, but the ‘Cons all do” Wheeljack replied.

“Up until now you were the Con-rights activist here. You suddenly want us to bleed out one of them?”

The other two looked puzzled.

“Have you never heard about the balsam called ‘personal best’? OK, by that face you make, I suppose you have. It is essentially a concentrated solution of nanites. Most of us made our scholarship funds by contracting to a farmer. You didn’t know that?”

“I...” Prowl gaped. “I didn’t know such intelligent Autobots would sink so deep.”

“And here I thought you were the coldly logical one!” Wheeljack laughed, clearly not taking the insult. “It was the most popular way of making money when I was young. As contractors we had full rations of pure-grade, a safe accommodation, and one quite pleasurable way of returning the favors. Some of us kept our contracts even after graduating.”

“But...” Prowl continued gaping. “You were selling your own lubricants! You fragged yourselves on devices per contract, only so that your liquids would be sold! That’s **_disgusting_** , mechs! Do you think the ‘Cons will agree to this? To sign your versions of this abhorrent contract to let us repair the ship we’ve taken from them? That’s pure nonsense!”

“There’s only one way to find that out” Wheeljack answered. “Prowl, please, let’s just give it a try. I’ll finish the collector piece in four breems at most. I need you to show me one of the holes where you suspect the ‘Cons to be hiding. That’s all.”

Prowl rested his palm against his forehead’s elegant chevron.

“This is madness” he sighed.


	4. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware, here comes the explicit.

It was madness, but it worked. Wheeljack was used to getting wondrous results on the first try, and then having to readjust his creations for some irritating ‘safety reasons’. So he was not at all surprised when Thundercracker very eagerly accepted the deal, on the sole condition that he would get enough energon for both himself and Skywarp. (“You will leave ‘Warper out of this, will you?”) As they specified the details, the blue Seeker was also happy to hear that Prowl would be left out of this. It was a business arrangement between himself and Wheeljack alone.

Wheeljack remembered how his farmer (a decent, albeit snobbish old designer) had harvested him, back in the Golden Ages. The grey Autobot had let Thundercracker select the ‘straight tool’ and the location, but he insisted on determining the time. It had to be when gravity was strongest, to prevent any loss of the precious lubricant. As far as he understood the Seeker’s wing positions, the blue mech was eager to exchange some of his nanites for energon in this... rather intimate manner.

“You know, this was one of the things I had among my plans to try before the war.” Thundercracker shared. His voice, contrasting with his posture, betrayed how nervous he was. “Star was always talking about the University of Vos and how he paid his tuition.”

“Turns out we had something in common, after all” Wheeljack smiled. It wasn’t quite visible behind his large facemask, but Thundercracker seemed to understand. And appreciate.

“So, let’s go through the details before I’d do anything” he offered. “You unlock your valve covers. I will help you start lubricating. When you say you’re ready, I will push the straight tool up your valve, and connect it to the sleeve, and the sleeve to the collector. We will stand so that you can rest your hands against the rock here, but if you want to take another angle, just warn me before moving. The handle I will be holding is attached to the sleeve so in theory it won’t spill even if you make a wrong move. But if that happens, you still get both cubes – we have all been beginners once. If you tell me to stop at any point, I will. Agreeable?”

“Huhh” Thundercracker nodded.

“Okay, then.” Wheeljack checked his chronometer. There was still plenty time before they’d lose gravity. “So... legs apart.”

Thundercracker rested both palms against the solid rock, and offlined his optics. He tried to steady himself for the oncoming humiliation. He had never been touched by anyone who wasn’t a Seeker, nor did he have much tolerance for Autobots in general. But two cubes of energon made the difference between life and death, and he couldn’t let Skywarp offline for his prudery. And letting his brother be harvested was out of question.

The first touch he’d felt was on his back. Between the wings, in a sensitive area, and from there it crept down to his crotch panels. He shivered and fought back the urge to attack. Attacking would not help anyone. He had agreed to this. About a thousand other mechs had done this before. Wheeljack was an Autobot jerk, but he was still the most acceptable out of the present three. He would resist the urge to fight back.

Wheeljack’s hands played with the lower edges of his wings, and Thundercracker didn’t want to know how ridiculous he might look right now. He positioned his legs a little more apart.

“So get to business already” he murmured.

He would have much preferred to just shoot the Autobot straight through the spark, but that was no option with all their weapons confiscated. Thundercracker’s panel retracted with an audible cling, and, hint taken, Wheeljack proceeded to the black central panel. He didn’t miss Thundercracker burying his face in his lower arm’s armor, pressing hard against the rock in front of him.

Wheeljack ran a palm on the Seeker’s valve, only pressing his fingers as much as to determine if, after five million years of war and four other millions of stasis lock, the part was operable at all. As far as he could tell, it appeared perfectly functional.

He heard an odd sound in the near-vacuum and hoped it wasn’t Thundercracker weeping.

He pressed his first finger in, pushing away some secondary locks. A built-in spray automatically covered the intruding metal with lubricant.

“Just get it done, already!” the Seeker demanded. Or cried. “We have been through quite enough in this entire slag-eating war! We had hunger! We had shut-downs! We lost our friends, our former trine-mates, our entire cities because you wouldn’t let us take a single piece of rock without blowing up at least half of it!”

Wheeljack’s first-hand experience taught him this was not the moment to continue.

“I will wait for you to calm down.”

“You will fragging take my juice and run with it! Now!”

“If you insist” Wheeljack decided. He took the straight tool and positioned its tip just at the edge of the Seeker’s valve. The larger mech shivered and put his legs slightly more apart.

“In” he demanded.

Of what he could see, lubrication had just started in there. Wheeljack waited two more astrosecs, then pushed the thing in as high up as he could.

It went in almost halfway, before the friction mechanisms started pushing it out. He pressed deeper, and Thundercracker moaned.

“In!”

The valve’s own systems were pressing against Wheeljack’s push, but that was how he remembered harvesting to start on every occasion. It was because the living metal body recognized the tool for what it was, and didn’t react like it would to another mech’s living metal. Their bodies were just too smart to be tricked that easily.

Besides, as Wheeljack realized during his third push in, Thundercracker’s systems did not only fight back the lifeless piece. His processor was also struggling against the enemy.

He pushed a fourth, then a fifth time. About two-third of the tool went in at his best try, before it was pushed one-third out again. This was not how it should go.

The production seemed just fine, however. There was slimy-sticky liquid on the straight tool, and finally after the push-out periods, the valve itself seemed to be sucking the tool inside again. Not how it was supposed to work, but it would do for first time. He would maybe need to shorten the thing, but for now, this was a good learning experience.

Thundercracker bitterly moaned again, and after a glimpse at his face, Wheeljack decided he would call off the first attempt.

“Maybe we should come back to this later” he suggested, and pulled the tool two-thirds out. The pull-back from the valve was strong, however, almost as strong as the resistance had been.

“No” Thundercracker whispered. “I can do this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I must” Thundercracker insisted just when the tool was finally out. He turned to look the smaller Autobot face to face. He was weary. “For Skywarp.”

“You are getting the two cubes, I promised” Wheeljack said. “It’s not your fault... So much war cannot be undone by two of us simply deciding so.”

For the first time, Thundercracker loosened. He raised his wings to a more dignified position.

“I agree with that.” He closed his panel and stepped away from the rock. He took the two cubes, but didn’t go away. “We should try again.”

Now it was Wheeljack who took a step back.

“Are you sure? This is about production, not about how much one can endure.”

“I’m supposed to be enjoying it. Yes. Let’s give it a second go. No touching my wings this time.”

Wheeljack hesitated. Thundercracker, however, did not. He secured the cubes on a higher surface, above the almost-vertical piece of rock. He placed his two hands in the same position as before, and this time he didn’t attempt to cover his face. He merely offlined his optics and let his interface panel slide open.

Wheeljack didn’t even touch him this time. He teased the sensitive outer surface with the tip of the spike-imitation, waited for the first drops of lubricant, then he just went for it. He figured Thundercracker would require more distraction from being together with a live enemy than from a neutral piece of metal. He pretended not to be there, apart from setting the Decepticon on a piece of equipment that would harvest his lubricant so that they can fly him home for trials.

And this time, it went splendidly. Thundercracker’s valve opened, accepted, pushed back only to take more in again. Friction was teasing more lubricant reservoirs to activate, rubbing the straight tool with oily-creamy juice.

Once the structure was perfectly in, Wheeljack fixed it to the sleeve. This way Thundercracker’s valve motors could still push it out enough for the friction to remain, but the sleeve also attached to the outer part and to the edges on both sides. Thundercracker moaned again when the tiny clamps on the sleeve pushed his valve rims further, but this was not the miserable attempt to fight back his resistance. It much more resembled the sounds Wheeljack remembered to have given out so many years ago.

The small clamps in the sleeve were his own invention. Back on Cybertron there was enough atmosphere to make a difference against vacuum. Here they either had gravity or atmospheric pressure, but never at the same time. They had to adapt.

“Can I set the collector vials?” Wheeljack asked. He realized too late that he was enemy and as such he was preferred to be elsewhere. It was just too obvious for him to ask.

Thundercracker’s reply was only a series of discursive sounds. Wheeljack took it as a yes.

The vial itself wasn’t a big deal, but it had a set of small engines that attached to the outer parts of the straight tool. Soon the inner part was moving in a creative rhythm, and Thundercracker was panting just like Wheeljack remembered himself to have been.

“That’s goooood!” Thundercracker moaned. “Goodgoodgoodgood gooood!”

His hips were moving, back and forth, following the rhythm of the collector vial. And in there, protected from random leg-movements and from being occasionally clinked against the rock, was a small amount of excess lubricant, presumably full with healthy repair-nanites: what Wheeljack and the ship most needed.

 


	5. Harvest and production

To be on the safe side, Wheeljack was holding the sleeve’s outer handle. It was more for the sake of tradition rather than real safeguarding; his own farmer had been holding his vial too throughout his entire first year. Later, the old mech would sometimes just attach it to a flexible holder, but even that only in the middle of the harvesting process, never for the positioning or for the release. Those were intimate, personal moments Wheeljack had shared with his sponsor and supporter.

But that mech was a friend, not an outright enemy. It was impossible for either of them to even fathom killing the other. He had never been locked in a small cell unfueled for five orns, his farmer never made him wear a collar – it wasn’t even brought up. Yes, he had to have a fueling inhibitor in his throat that prevented him from consuming anything extra apart from what he had been allowed, but that was for quality protection only, and he received a lucrative compensation. Thundercracker? The most merciful would be to shoot him straight in the spark before he would be put on trial for war crimes of over five million years. Not that Wheeljack had felt sorry for any murderer (nobot had exactly forced him to be Starscream’s trine-mate) but even the most lenient solution would include blocking his free flight. Pit, this was a Decepticon. Perhaps even keeping him from hunting Autobots and random organics would be unspeakable punishment.

Of course, at his current state Thundercracker was completely harmless. He was rocking his hips back and forth, leaning against a solid rock formation. His optics were glowing pink, and Wheeljack could tell he wasn’t seeing much. He couldn’t remember if at this stage he had ever heard what was said to him, but that was maybe because his farmer had never talked at this phase. He wasn’t much of a chatting mech anyway.

Wheeljack often wondered what had happened to him. He’d died relatively early in the war; the entire region had been bombed to dust. But was he still a neutral when that final explosion hit him? Or did he pick a side? Which? Was he killed in friendly fire? Did he die with the snobbish grace he had been famous for, or did he go down screaming?

The Autobot sobered from his thoughts to a quiet beeping. The vial was almost full.

The small device was already slowing down the pace, preparing the mech for the imminent cessation of the harvest. However, the telemetry read Thundercracker was richly lubricating, so Wheeljack reached for the spare vial he had brought. When the Seeker, following the pace of the apparatus, had slowed down enough, he changed for the new one.

“Aaaa..aa...aaaa..aaaaAAAAAAA!”

That was the voice of approval. Thundercracker’s frame reacted to the unexpected second surge of valve stimulation. All Wheeljack had to do was keep the harvesting device in place. And to patiently wait for the Seeker to stop lubricating.

When that time eventually came, the second vial was over 60% full. The precious liquid was still seeping, and the harvest could have been continued until Thundercracker was completely dry, but Wheeljack had a long list of reasons not to take that path. The Seeker was a criminal, so his health and future valve comfort was far from the top of that, but depleting his nanite reserves was to be avoided at all costs. And a spike (or an artefact that acts like one) in a dry valve was always a recipe for disaster. If nanites were busy coating the damaged surface, they would not be duplicating. Without enough reproducing nanites, there would be no second harvest.

And even this wonderful 160% production would only be enough for the Victory’s controls.

Prowl would’ve sworn Wheeljack was whistling when he returned with the suspicious-looking set he had created, and passed the two vials to Perceptor.

“Apply with care. I’ll be with you in a breem.”

“Where are you taking those two cubes?” Prowl inquired.

“Where are you going?” Perceptor asked at the same time.

To a mech who very well earned it, Wheeljack wished he could reply. But he didn’t say a word.

He found Thundercracker just where he had left him, in a discreet hole next to the vertical rock. He was curled up around an empty energon cube, and recharging with a very satisfied smile on his face.

Wheeljack Skywarp too, if only for a moment.


	6. Nanites

 

Perceptor stared at the contents of the first vial.

Most of his crash-damages had been repaired, but he couldn’t heal. Transformation still hurt, and his current microscope mode meant that he would soon need to transform again.

Thundercracker’s lubricant, or as Perceptor’s farmer had always referred to it: his ‘personal best’, was a truly amazing solution of healthy, active, all-repairing nanites. All-repairing? He was curious enough to check on a higher resolution.

He told himself in advance that he wouldn’t be disappointed, but in the end, he still was. This liquid would be marvelous for the ship’s repairs, so they would be able to travel to Junk, where they could call for help. Nice, plain and simple.

It would have been even better if he could have used the nanites on his person, but sadly, it was not the case. Not that he would have expected otherwise. Back when they had been harvested for medical-grade liquid, there had been a whole list of conditions to be met. Most critical, of course, had been his energon consumption. Second most-critical, one that his farmer had had most trouble with: valve-interface had been prohibited for lubricant producers. The production area had to be kept clear for harvest. At the same time, however, what the contractor did with his spike was his own business. (Well, Perceptor hadn’t done much. All the other trainees had also been contracted, save for a few who were idiots and/or refused to accept energon limitation and were proud to be constantly drunk. Thinking back, his farmer had helped him through his studies in more than just one way.)

But Thundercracker was a wartime fighter, not a contractor like the two of them had been. Of course his lubricant would not be medical-grade pure. Of course. No disappointment here, no disappointment....

Wheeljack came back to the Victory, found Perceptor in his microscope mode. He helped him up to robot form so that he could walk again.

“I suppose you have moderately good news, Perce.” The mere fact that he found his friend in alt mode hinted something bad, but his disappointed expression was outright dissuading. “Does he have no nanites either?”

“He does have wonderful nanites! Only, not medical grade. By the way it took you longer than a breem.”

“Yes... we talked. TC caught me with an interesting question. Can non-medical-pure nanites be used as medical would be, if it’s for the same frame type?”

“In theory, yes. Why? Did something happen to Skywarp?”

“Now repeat that question without sarcasm.”

“Sorry. I apologize. I forgot you have a Decepticon contractor.”

“We have, not I. And I still heard sarcasm.”

“I’m sorry. When I’m serious, my wounds start itching. So. Is there something wrong with our contractor’s dear mold-mate?”

“I fear there is. I can’t imagine Thundercracker asking about this for any other reason.”

“So what? Will you sign up for taking responsibility for both, once we get home?”

Wheeljack gave his fellow a very pointed look.

“We are not yet there. As it stands, I’m not sure that’s what either of them would want.”

“And don’t worry. After the Dinobots, I can hardly imagine Prime to trust you with either of them.”

“You are VERY reassuring, Perce.”

For a long while, they worked with the regular tools and as much lubricant as they had. Nanites would only thrive on living surfaces, so the empty metal of the fallen Decepticon spaceship was hardly their natural habitat. They had done miraculously well compared to nothing, but they were nothing in comparison to the miracle the three stranded Autobots needed. So Perceptor ceased teasing Wheeljack about his winged big bad protégés and started urging him to take a second turn with Thundercracker.

Wheeljack returned late, when the gravity was already faltering from under his wheels. But he brought two completely full vials, and claimed Thundercracker could have filled a third one, if he had any.

After his third outing, two more planetary rotations later, Wheeljack came home in triumphant glee.

“He allowed me to touch him, Perce. He allowed me to touch him!”

With the Victory’s systems also running self-repair, escape from the small planetoid appeared to be in arm’s reach. If they could maintain Thundercracker’s eagerness, they could soon travel to Junk, grab some help there, get home... And then they would return for their abandoned prisoners and tell the world the three of them wouldn’t have made it without the prisoners.

Maybe the Autobot Court will take account of his cooperation.


	7. Harvesting a Seeker

Wheeljack was humming an old Cybertronian song as he was rolling to the usual harvesting site with the usual four energon cubes in his subspace and other essential tools in his cargo hold. His body still hurt after the crash-landing, but he was at least getting used to the pain, and his life seemed to have settled, if only temporarily, to what he would readily accept as ‘normal’. Thundercracker was soaring high above him, almost closer to another asteroid than to their own. Clearly, the mech wasn’t bothered by the lack of atmosphere during gravity hours. It would hurt Wheeljack to take him to Cybertron to be locked up, but of course he could not set him loose on a populated planet either.

Thundercracker looked happy and content. It was his fifth harvest he was looking forward to, apparently with much fewer reservations and a lot more good experiences than their first time. Also, he was getting more than enough fuel regularly – on an unspoken agreement, four cubes per harvest, two of which was supposedly passed on to Skywarp. The remaining two were still more than what the Seeker had been getting while stuck on Earth with his leaders.

Wheeljack transformed and set his tools ready.

“Hi, TC. I see you’re doing great today!”

“Yes. I was wondering if we could do this more frequently. Could we?”

“No.”

“Why?” Thundercracker was taken aback.

“Because your frame needs time for regeneration. We can’t make it in every rotation. We could, in theory, arrange for a period somewhere between one and two days, but in case you haven’t noticed, there’s no gravity here at the time. I understand your point, but my goal is to actually get the lubricant out of you.”

“Ah. I see. Scrap.” Thundercracker transformed and rested his hands against the rock as usual. “Well, it never hurts to ask.”

Wheeljack patted him on the shoulder, keeping his hand strictly on the central armor and nowhere near the wings. Thundercracker purred in anticipation.

“And how are repairs going? I hope we’re not going to be staring at each other’s awful faceplates for eternity. You know, it would get boring.”

Wheeljack rubbed his back, then moved on to the inner sides of the Seeker’s thighs.

“Dunno. Your frame is quite good to look at” he smiled behind his vast mouthplate.

“Well, the same cannot be said of you” Thundercracker replied. “No offense! With that streamlined alt mode, I understand you pay less attention to your robot form.”

His vocalizer was silenced as his ventilation kicked on. That was an instinctive reaction to having his inner valve locks manually opened, completely useless with almost no atmosphere.

“Primus, that feels good. Are you as affectionate in a real berth?”

Wheeljack laughed.

“I’m glad it feels good, it’s meant to be. No, I cannot tell if I’m **as** affectionate, it depends on the partner just like everything else.”

“Has it never occurred to you to frag your contractors for real?” Thundercracker inquired.

His valve clinged as Wheeljack positioned the spike-like construction at its edge. At the first push, it went halfway in, then it was pushed almost out, but the second push sent it almost two-third in, and even after the push-out, it remained halfway there. After the third push-in, Wheeljack could fix it in the valve with the sleeve. Just in time: the precious lubricant was almost seeping out.

Wheeljack waited for five astroseconds before attaching the vial. He had firsthand memories of what harm a hastily positioned false spike could do. He didn’t want to hurt Thundercracker.

“Hmmmm. I love your unswerving style.” The Seeker’s normally red optics have already started to turn intense pink.

“That is how I learnt.”

“So? Have you ever fragged somebot after watching them harvested?”

“No.” Wheeljack replied. “For very simple reasons. The only time I’ve seen mechs harvested was when I was a contractor myself. You’re my first in this aspect.”

“May I say I’m hono... o....o... oooooOOOOOhhhHHH!”

Wheeljack grinned.

“I increased the engine’s intensity a little. You look so cute when you’re caught by surprise.”


	8. Post-harvest

**Post-harvest**

VOP!

Then, “Fraggin’ scrapping’ SLAG!”

“Skywaaaaaaarp?”

Even with pink-glowing optics and an intensely stimulating false spike in his valve, Thundercracker seemed to have properly registered the problem: his fellow Seeker somehow got stuck in the labyrinth of rocks next to him.

“TC! Help!”

Thundercracker’s hip region kept moving back and forth with the same pace as before (a pace determined by Wheeljack’s harvesting set), but his production dropped to zero in a matter of astrosecs. The Autobot very quickly detached the vial and the sleeve, leaving only the long tool in place. Skywarp always meant an emergency.

The black Seeker was struggling with his right hand that got stuck in the stone crevice where Wheeljack was storing the first vial’s contents while the blue Seeker was being harvested for the second. Like most tools Wheeljack had packed for the interplanetary journey, it had a layer of double-real alloys, making them impenetrable by teleportation. Also, it couldn’t be stolen by a teleporter.

“Hey! You, ‘Warper!” The Autobot grabbed the stuck arm, and tried to pull the Decepticon away.

“Skywarp, get gone!” Thundercracker also shouted, although his usual processing functions were still preoccupied with the activity his trine-mate had disturbed. “I told you to stay out of this!”

“But I only wanted the vial...!” the black one lamented. “TC, did you even ask him my question?”

“Yes, I did. And he said it’s likely to help, but wounds need reconstruction first, and only then can the balsam heal your pieces in their proper position.” The blue Seeker was still standing uncertainly after the interrupted harvest, but at least he seemed to get a grab of what his mate had intended. Another bad idea of the Skywarp kind. “Let go of the vial and stay out of this. Once we get home, I will make sure to arrange with Hook... or whoever’s left... Shockwave.”

“No!”

After the second left-handed punch, Wheeljack gave up trying to loosen the Seeker’s fingers on the non-teleportable vial. He let Thundercracker talk some sanity into him, hoping that would work.

“You’re only getting yourself recaptured, ‘Warps. Don’t. We have enough energon for us, at least for now. Be patient. Let go of that vial.”

“But...” The newcomer looked into his trine-mate’s now normal-red optics, and eventually nodded. He let go of the vial, but stayed.

“Do you trust this Autobot, TC?” He quietly asked. “Because I don’t want Hook. Or Shockwave. Or anybody else who remains.”

His brother hugged him, and without transforming he lifted the two of them to the higher portion of the rock, next to the energon cubes. From this angle, Wheeljack could see the outer part of the straight tool still moving inside the blue Seeker’s valve. Just like during the first harvest, he decided it would be best to just pretend not to be here.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, chapters could come a lot faster if you bothered to comment....


	9. Further arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: reference to past noncon in this chapter. The theme will come up later, too.

Prowl was busy bringing the navigation system online. That thing was painfully illogical even before the crash, and the randomly popping error messages gave him a real headache.

At least the other parts of the ship were more or less okay. Calling them functional was a big overstatement, but they would remain in one piece after the two engineers finished repairs. The nanites were a smart idea, or so they seemed. Fantastically stupid, but smart.

Too bad they would waste almost eighteen percent of the energon they were carrying. In his opinion, Wheeljack was overly generous with paying four cubes for one harvest’s yield. Even when getting mechs to lubricate for a living was considered an acceptable deed, one cube plus a few shanix was an agreeable exchange rate. Since then, because of the war and the resulting energon shortage, the market value of full energon cubes sky-rocketed. Also, there was no logical reason to overpay a Decepticon who would only be imprisoned at Garrus-9 for the foreseeable future.

Wheeljack returned, a little sooner than usual.

“Perce!” His call echoed in the slowly returning atmosphere. “Perceptor, I need you” he called. Apparently he didn’t notice Prowl being there, too.

“I’m here. What?”

“I need to ask you a favor.” Wheeljack put down the day’s harvested amount (the second vial wasn’t loaded entirely) dragged the microscope-former to his toolbox and urged him to start packing. “Please, at least do a deep scan to provide a proper damage list. Be prepared for bad.”

“What?” Perceptor was almost as confused as Prowl, and unlike him, couldn’t pretend to have gone back to installing the navi-computer. “Is it urgent?”

“...No” Wheeljack admitted. “Only a wound the ‘Cons have neglected.”

“Then why is it important?” Perceptor inquired. Good question; Prowl would have asked exactly the same.

Wheeljack took an in-vent and grabbed his own tools.

“Mixmaster had raped Skywarp. Of what I have seen, he needs a complete reconstruction.”

Prowl banged his head into the computer in front of him. Why did he have to get stranded with these two do-gooders on board? Why couldn’t he have just one sane mech on the ship? Someone who would understand ‘None of your business, none!’ instead of hurrying away to help?


	10. Time

**Time**

Perceptor carefully scanned the Victory’s engine block. He wondered what the other Autobots were doing on Cybertron and on Earth. Most certainly they had already organized a search, and maybe, in a few centuries, they would get here. If nothing else goes wrong.

There was a two-day delay, which made their captain short-circuit, but Perceptor didn’t really mind. They had been here for almost half a month. What difference did it make?

What difference... except for Skywarp. The mech had had a messed-up damage that should have been tended to months ago. But what was the Decepticon way of sorting it? The three Seekers beating all six Constructicons into the ground. This attitude had to be the reason why a shipful of Autobot civilians had bested the programmed-to-fight Decepticon army. And of course, only afterwards did they realize the only available medic was one of the Constructicons. For obvious reasons, Skywarp had rejected the idea of turning to him for repairs.

But now the wound was healing just fine, and they had a pair of truly grateful Seekers. Which mostly meant Skywarp had not tried to steal anything from the Victory in the past days. Thundercracker expressed his appreciation to Wheeljack in his own way.

Interesting duo, the microscope-triplechanger mused. Wheeljack and Thundercracker both had lived too long without a real fragging-partner, and after million of years warfare, they apparently ended up in this more-than-contract relationship. Perceptor wondered how long until they started to interfac for real. Thundercracker was only compelled to keep his valve unprodded between harvests, but Wheeljack himself had no similar reservations. So, when would Thundercracker spike the racecar senseless?

Time.

Perceptor deleted everything from his RAM regarding ‘time’. He didn’t want to think about the delay. Too bad Prowl was reminding them of it all the time.

 


	11. Progress

Wheeljack took the spike replica out from Thundercracker’s valve, and held it upside-down so that the last motes of the ‘personal best’ would drip into the second vial. Then, while the blue Seeker was recovering from harvest, the grey Autobot attached the vial to a very thin tube.

“Come, ‘Warps. It’s your turn.”

“Must I?” The dark one was perching on the rock above them, keeping out of the Autobot’s reach.

“Few days ago it was you who almost stole the bottle.” Thundercracker pointed out. “Wheeljack won’t hurt you. It’ll be just the same as what I was doing, only, the other way round.”

“It will be a little uncomfortable.” Wheeljack admitted.

The black Seeker sighed. “Can’t just TC be doing it, then?”

“Quit haggling!” his trine-mate rejected. “Wheeljack is the engineer, so he will do it. You allowed him and the other ‘Bot to repair you while you were offline, so gather that famous courage of yours and let him see if your wounds are healing properly.”

“’Warps, if it makes you feel better, I can give this to TC to apply after I’ve finished the scans. Deal?”

Skywarp gave a miserable sound, and dropped flat onto his cockpit on a rock, so that his valve was almost at the same level as Wheeljack’s optics.

“Whatever.”

Wheeljack was used to seeing frames. He was used to seeing wounds. He wasn’t quite a docbot like Ratchet had always been, but he could relate to the medic’s job and, when needed, see his patient as a set of malfunctioning and non-malfunctioning parts. The non-malfunctioning of Skywarp were his legs, his vocalizer, and his wings. Maybe his courage, too: Wheeljack reasoned that being vulnerable to a grounder simply wasn’t what a flightframe had been programmed to cope with.

The outer valve covers were steady in place, meaning that the welds held nicely. Good.

“Retract those, please.”

Skywarp obeyed with a whine.

Behind the new cover was a net of welds and broken surfaces. A Seeker’s valve is tight and strong; Wheeljack could imagine what amount of force it took to intrude this area. He and Perceptor spent a gravity-less period removing the wrongly fused panels, and an entire local day putting everything back together. All the time while Skywarp had been in enforced stasis, Thundercracker had been standing guard.

That was the first time since their crash that Wheeljack started to wonder about Soundwave’s whereabouts. Until this, the Autobots were simply glad to have not met him.

“All seems fine in here. So, do you want me or your trine-brother?”

“Trine-mate.” Skywarp corrected. “And yes, him. If I can choose.”

Wheeljack could tell Thundercracker was anything but enthusiastic about dealing with wounds the Autobot way (also known as ‘repairing them’), but he took the vial and the long tube from the grey mech with only a grimace, and bent until he could see his fellow’s valve.

“It looks like any other damage I’ve seen,” he commented. Then, following the Autobot’s instructions, he slid the tube in as much as he could, and started spraying his own lubricant into his trine-mate.

“It STINGS!” Skywarp lamented.

“Jackie told you it would,” Thundercracker noted.

“He told me it would be uncomfortable, not that it HUUURTS!”

“Shut up, ‘Warper. Be grateful I’m doing this. Almost there.”

The moment he was done, Skywarp teleported away. Thundercracker handed the tube and the vial back.

“I have to admit I’m not as eager as I usually would be, but I still owe you a second vial-ful for today.”

“TC, you don’t have to. I admit your production is far over average, but I don’t want to abuse you. One vial more or less doesn’t count as much when we still have the engines to reconnect to the command panels.”

“I have agreed to this. I have agreed to provide you the juice, my ‘personal best’, on regular basis. So far you only have one vial for today. I won’t go back on my word just because another vial was spent on helping ‘Warper. Put that thing back in. And no surprise increases in speed this time, OK?”

With that, he rested his hands back on the rock. He was starting to leave his print there, he noticed.

“OK!”

Wheeljack’s hands felt familiar now. As much as he knew those same fingers had created weapons against Decepticons, they had also repaired Skywarp’s valve, so no reservation was due. The dildo entered him (Wheeljack called it ‘straight tool’ - what an idiotic name) and initiated the harvest reaction. He wasn’t as enthusiastic as usual, but his frame had learnt what was expected, so he started the in-out frictions. Soon the sleeve was attached (judging by the pressure in the edge of his valve) and the vial followed in a second. From that moment, his body was producing his ‘personal best’ as if he had been built for that task.

True to his word, Wheeljack had tuned down the engines’ movement. It was a comfortable pace, not quite mind-blowing but still pleasurable. The Seeker panted along with the beat and felt his lubricant seeping out to the collector.

He didn’t quite fill the vial again, but Wheeljack still claimed to be satisfied with the production.

As the harvesting tool’s engines switched off, Thundercracker wondered if feeling as useless as he felt now, was a common reaction. He had been a warrior until the crash here. He had been a lubricant contractor for a few breems every second day. But in the meantime, was he anything?

 


	12. Surrender

Wheeljack watched as the Decepticon slowly collapsed to the ground. It was gravity-time, and he was just through a really exhausting harvest. Three vials were more than what was reasonable to take from anybot. Despite their previous agreement (that today’s yield would be a recompense for Skywarp’s repairs) he couldn’t leave his Seeker contractor empty-handed. Just one cube from the reserves, why would that matter to anyone? He knelt down to the mech, and handed a day’s dose of fuel to him.

“This is why Decepticons won’t trust you.” Thundercracker smiled. “Thanks.”

Wheeljack turned to the lower half of the comfortably lying Seeker, and started detaching the harvesting set.

First of all he put the vial away. As it was teleport-proof, it also couldn’t be subspaced, but the engineer had long ago crafted small normal-space pockets with magnetic locks.

Then he unclipped the sleeve. The rubbery plug with the small clamps and the large handle looked like a piece of history from his student orns. Without this technology, his training would have never been completed, for simple financial reasons. He couldn’t understand why Prowl was sarcastic about that.

The spike imitation was halfway in the valve, but its locks were so stiff that he couldn’t pull it out. Of course, everything was also dry. Thundercracker didn’t have the reserves to oil the tool enough to be removed. Leaving it in was out of question for several good reasons. So the Autobot just sat down next too his Seeker, and started rubbing the dry valve.

“Hmmmm...”

“You’ve locked on the straight tool.”

“M-hmm.”

“Please give it back.”

Thundercracker’s sole reply was to turn into an even more suggestive angle before falling back to stasis.

Wheeljack hesitated. First, he wanted to get the spiking-tool back to his set. Then, he wanted to be home before the gravity-less period. There was still plenty time, but Wheeljack could only move around effectively if he had enough traction. Besides, despite the repairs he didn’t trust Skywarp and the Seeker would be at advantage in the atmosphere.

Thundercracker was fast in recharge.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

It was, in fact, a sign of unconditional trust for the Seeker to power down in an Autobot’s company. His frame still reacted to impulses, but his mind was processing the telemetry data from the previous days, and.... well, Wheeljack admitted it had quite a lot to calculate.

He put a gentle hand on Thundercracker’s tight interface panel. The Seeker replied with a purr.

“Hello?”

No purr this time.

The Autobot run his hand on the half-closed valve lock, then started circling his fingers around the stuck harvesting piece. Thundercracker gave a low sound, similar to a growl.

“Like distant thunder” Wheeljack murmured.

Under his palm, the valve was still playing with the straight tool, albeit at a rather sleepy pace. Wheeljack kept rubbing the area nearby, just enough for the offline Con’s sensors to pick it up.

The larger robot gave a low-tune beep, that was all. Wheeljack slid his palm on the handle of the dildo, and tried to keep it from sliding back in with the constant pulsing of the valve’s automated motion. Just like the first time, he was surprised how incredibly strong a Seeker’s valve was. And it wasn’t letting go.

He continued with one hand on the handle, the other gently on Thundercracker’s plating. He was pulling slowly, because an abrupt reclaiming of the straight tool could have lead to damaging the fully dry entrance. Thundercracker didn’t seem to mind his attempts: he was deep in recharge save for a few occasional, satisfied sounds.

Wheeljack tried to recall if his farmer had ever been in a similar situation. Overharvesting did occur: one of his fellow students had, on another farm, closed his locks on a tool that had been built for him specifically, so it was physically impossible to disconnect the too-good match. He couldn’t recall how the situation had been resolved, however. But it certainly had cost a lot.

He applied a few drops of artisan oil, although he remembered it had made no real difference back then. On this Primus-forsaken planetoid, far from civilization, it was unfair of the valve to remain this tightly closed!

As he suspected, the oil didn’t do much in the way of getting the dildo out. Mech and machine seemed so tightly bound, Wheeljack started to wonder if they’ll remain so for the next gravity-less period. He very much hoped not.

He looked up at the distant stars and the nearby asteroids. As they were rotating towards the center of the field, more and more space objects covered out the setting star.

It was gorgeous. The slowly returning atmosphere refracted the rays into a million shades of light against the quickly darkening sky. Wheeljack had loved sunsets back home, he also loved the golden-red lights on Earth, but this parade of colors was beyond anything he’d ever witnessed.

He sent a radio message to Prowl before the mech would have started to worry. The reply was simply ‘PERV.’ He couldn’t really decide what to do with it.

He settled comfortably next to Thundercracker, careful not to touch his wings.

“It’s not like I understood why it’s prohibited,” he murmured, “but since you said no, well, that’s it. I just don’t think you have more sensors on an exposed appendage than in your valve, which you don’t mind me touching.”

He tried to think the Decepticon way. Maybe usefulness made the difference, not vulnerability. A Seeker without a functioning valve is still capable of flight, while a Seeker with dented wings is a miserable grounder. He wanted to run a caressing finger on the red stripe of the blue wing, but he didn’t want Thundercracker to smash him for it. Armed or not, the Seeker had almost double iron content than he. And much better self-repair.

All in all, self-restraint was due. Anyway, as an Autobot, he had clear regulations not to molest prisoners.

Gravity was fading rapidly; it was already less than what they had on Earth. Wheeljack checked on the dildo in the Seeker. It was still being pulled inwards as the valve had reacted to its presence at the entrance sensors, then it was pushed out when the more sophisticated scanners didn’t deem it a worthy partner for the flightframe. Without a conscious override, it would remain so for a long while. In, out. In, out. The friction made Thundercracker quietly purr in his sleep.

As much as Wheeljack could tell, the movement was slow enough not to cause any damage on the short term, but he was certain it would be bad in the long run. Even if it’s just TC refusing to be harvested the next few days, it’d still be a considerable delay.

He wondered how Seekers had pleasured each other. How did they make another lubricate, if not by the harvesting vial’s small engine? Wing rubs? Too bad, then.

Wheeljack’s gaze fell on the orange crystal of the cockpit, shining gilded by the last rays of the sunset. Should he try touching that? It looked like an obvious surface for stimulation. While still rubbing the area near the valve in vain hopes of re-triggering lubrication, Wheeljack rested his other hand on Thundercracker’s main chest crystal.

“Mmmmmhmmmh.”

So was that positive?

“Hmmmmmhm.”

Positive. Or at least the Seeker liked being touched there.

And what a wonderful feeling it provided. Through the amber-gold crystal, Wheeljack could palpate the appeased murmur of the main engines. He ran his fingers on the cockpit, remembering it was thanks to him that the Seeker was optimally fuelled. He got four cubes every second day; even if he shared it with his trine-brother, he must have consumed one cube every day for a whole week. Not even on Earth did the Decepticons gain this much fuel, Wheeljack supposed. They caused much trouble, but they weren’t very effective.

TC would be kept on proper rations after they arrive on Cybertron, Wheeljack promised to himself. Skywarp too. Even if it would mean himself starving. Even if it would mean being mocked for his leniency.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe can go frag themselves, he decided. He would have two Seekers at his call.

He touched a neck cable, and Thundercracker involuntarily shivered and turned away.

“Sorry.”

There might have been a purple flash of teleportation in the colorful sunset. Now that the shadows were growing long, it was impossible to tell if a black Seeker was nearby.

Wheeljack was more concerned by the loss of gravity. He could lie across Thundercracker’s broad center without actually putting detectable weight on him. His hands must have felt comfortably warm, one on the valve, the other on the cockpit. From this new angle the Autobot could also see that his Seeker had finally started to lubricate again. Apparently, touching the cockpit was the key.

The straight piece was still where it shouldn’t have been, but at least it was damp now and no longer damaging the living metal surfaces. Eventually, with one swift move, Wheeljack managed to pull it out.

Thundercracker moaned in his sleep, and it wasn’t a happy moan this time. With one hand he reached into his own valve, only to grab at the empty space of the tool. He gave a disappointed half-cry.

“It’s for the better, TC,” Wheeljack patted him. “I’m here. Perhaps not the company you would long for when you’re awake, but I think we’ll need to settle for each other tonight.”

Wheeljack moved one hand from the cockpit, but the other was still moving around the now empty valve. He could feel the needy shivers with his palm.

“I understand you long for a real partner. We would not be each other’s first choices, but who could be a chooser after millions of years of fighting?”

As if on a cue, the unconscious Thundercracker grabbed him with one hand, and pulled him close.

Lying on the sensitive crystal cockpit, chest against chest in almost zero gravity, Wheeljack started to wonder how the Seeker’s spike might feel like. He should really try it one day.


	13. Aspect

“If you claim you’ve only stayed with us for the traction-less period, you could as well get moving.”

Wheeljack looked up at cheekily-glowing red optics. It took him quite some time to put together the events that landed him in the Seekers’ area.

“Good morning, Skywarp.”

The Seeker transformed and boosted up into the colorful dawn. His guard duty was over, sleep would not be necessary for days, and his repaired wounds were no longer giving him crazy itching or alternating heat/pressure signals. Even the stingy feeling was passing.

Thundercracker rebooted his systems several times until it ceased giving him false readings, like, a grounder Autobot lying across him. When he finally considered himself awake, he roared into the sky after his trine-mate.

Wheeljack was left staring at the two Seekers in the morning lights. Gravity had returned hours before; the sunrays were dancing on the various rock formations. It was time to go home.

A flash of purple blocked his way with a quiet VOP.

“Soundwave wants a word with you. TC told me to take you there when you’re fully awake.”

Now that sobered Wheeljack immediately. What gorgeous flightframes? What sundawn, background asteroids, innocent dances? What harvest and contractor? These were Decepticons, ungrateful murderers, traitors, stranded halfway to a well-deserved storage cell. But before he could have powered up any of his weapons, Skywarp had grabbed him and the two of them teleported with a tank-twirling pang.

It was still dark where they had landed. By the angle of the light, Wheeljack guessed they were in the opposite direction from the crashed Decepticon spaceship. It was a deep valley: the perfect shelter for someone who didn’t wish to be found.

Soundwave’s presence was intense, palpable. Even now his emotions were hard to tell, Wheeljack could not identify any, even though their intensity almost burnt him.

Through the visual scans, Soundwave seemed to be in good condition and fairly fueled. Not quite like Thundercracker and Skywarp, but he either had reserves from before the journey, or he had claimed for himself all the cubes the Autobots had placed around after crashing.

“Soundwave: bored. Useless in present situation.” His emotionless words echoed in the cold. His red visor was staring at the Autobot without any expression.

“Wheeljack: proven trustworthy,” he continued. “Fair in trade. Also reliable with repairs. And considerate with contractor.”

“I...” The Autobot was confused. Was this an offer for cooperation of some sort?

“Ravage: wounded, will need extensive repairs. Autobots: still need nanites. Soundwave gives lubricant, if Ravage taken with you to Cybertron for repairs. Soundwave, cassettes: left to die here. Ravage: taken care of. Query: fair?”

“WHAT?” Wheeljack cried. “You want to give nanites just so that you would be left alone to die here?” This was stinking TRAP even to the Autobot with an infamously low sense of danger.

“Decepticons: defeated. Future: none. Laserbeak, Frenzy, Rumble accept fate. Ravage: deserves better. Sole request: him not given to Blaster. Blaster: enemy. Wheeljack, Perceptor: seen repairing Skywarp. Will make good masters.”

Wheeljack gaped for a klik or two.

“Give me some time to consider.”

Soundwave gracefully nodded. Despite his bulk, his red visor, his reputation and past, he looked mild at the moment. And he was known to greatly care about his cassettes.

“Option B: deal same as with Thundercracker. Energon in exchange for personal best.”

Wheeljack ran a quick calculation. The faster they collected nanites, the sooner they could take off for Junk. Even if the Decepticons’ energon requirements were the same (as they were paid per harvest, regardless of time) the Autobots would still consume less, since they’d spend much less time here.

“That.... sounds like a more reasonable offer.” Wheeljack managed.

Wouldn’t he be cheating Thundercracker this way? Normally, farmers had up to ten contractors, some had even twelve when the economy allowed for more. But then payment had been tuition to a good training facility, not a rather finite number of energon cubes that would now be divided between the espionage cohort and the two Seekers.

He should let Prowl make the final decision. He was the more logical one, besides, the highest- ranking mech onboard.

Hah. He didn’t even have to ask. Prowl would agree to giving half of Thundercracker’s to-be-earned energon to another contractor without a second thought.

“I need to go back to the Victory, whether or not agreeing to your offer.”

Soundwave nodded.

“Gravity suitable for harvest here: two point three Earth hours. Autobots long ago ceased to calculate in Cybertronian units” he remarked.

“Zero point seventy-three joors.” Wheeljack replied.

“Calculation: correct.” Soundwave nodded to that. “Request: cone-shape tool with etched grooves and inner collecting bottle.”

That was an unusual way of harvest, and as Wheeljack could remember, those who had tried it had referred to it later as a rather uncomfortable method. Of course, he had also tried the etched cone once. There was nothing memorable about it, at least for him. His yield was horrible on the cone, a waste of everyone’s time. But if that was what Soundwave requested?


	14. Yield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's favorite chapter. Ahoy.

Exactly zero point seventy-three joors later Wheeljack was climbing down to Soundwave’s hollow with a set of harvesting tools and additional gadgets that may be needed. Now, in the daylight, Soundwave’s landing damage was visible: both his right arm and right leg were ruptured, only kept together by welds he must have applied with a cassette-repairing kit. When he had to walk further than a few strides, he was leaning on a support he must have fabricated from grated outer parts of the spaceship.

“Compassion: not required” he reprimanded Wheeljack before he would have activated his vocalizer. “Prisoner of war: better not move anyway.”

He’s acting just as Prowl had warned he would, Wheeljack noted. He’s knowingly building on compassion despite claiming otherwise. He also might be faking damage to catch Autobots unprepared.

“I’ve brought the entire set we found. Are you sure you want a cone?”

Soundwave stumbled to the crate Wheeljack presented from his hold, and picked the largest piece. It was conical indeed: a right circular cone with blunted apex and delicately detailed lateral surface. Soundwave wordlessly cut a few extra grooves and attached the collecting container to the inner surface.

“Distance be kept,” he warned Wheeljack. “No coming close.”

Wheeljack bitterly nodded. He’d learned, in a world much more habitable than a planet-size warfield, that the farmer’s duty was to look after the contractors’ needs. Pamper them, set the harvesting tools properly, and guard them during production so that they would not need to care about anything else. Soundwave apparently wanted none of those pleasures.

It was almost noon on the planetoid’s airless surface. Gravity’s peak was expected an hour later, but then its strength would last until sunset. They had all adapted to their temporary home’s physics just as easily as they took to alien habits on Earth.

“Soundwave: used for many functions in past. Lubricant production included. No assistance necessary.”

With that, the dark blue Decepticon fixed the harvesting cone to a rock at his feet. He double-checked that the Autobot really wouldn’t come closer to interfere, then he opened his valve panels and stood above the cone.

Wheeljack had already measured the tool and had a rather accurate estimation of Soundwave’s parameters too. It seemed ridiculously large for the mech. Well, the dark blue mech was carrying a subspace compartment in his frame, so maybe he was way bigger on the inside, but his choice still made no sense for Wheeljack.

Soundwave slowly bent his knees, positioning himself on top of the enormous tool. Waves of emotions hit from the angular communication officer; memory files that must have been buried millions of years ago. The mech gave no sound, showed no flinch; not even his red visor flickered. He just lowered himself on the tool, and waited for his valve to open further. He took in more of the cone, then again, even more. Wheeljack could feel the strong pulse of his electromagnetic field, but it was so cacophonic he couldn’t make out separate emotions.

“No interference.”

The dark mech himself was as stoic and secretive as usual, and this scared Wheeljack more than frantic laughter or unintelligent screaming would have. By pure chance he managed to get a clear reading of a thought radiating from the Decepticon third in command: DUTY. Wheeljack frowned at the discovery, but still couldn’t help watching Soundwave slowly lowering himself onto the device.

He realized how little he understood this mech, and wondered how the other Decepticons had adapted to him. He was known to be a sinkhole of secrets, never revealing his cards but to Megatron himself. So how would Megatron view him now, taking in the cone gradually?

That was easy to guess. Megatron viewed everyone as a tool towards some distant purpose. He would now view Soundwave as a slowly increasing surface of lubrication. The cone was pressing against the valve, triggering the nanite solvent to be sprayed on it. As this made the cone just a little more slippery, Soundwave immediately slid deeper on it, increasing the contact surface even more. For how long? How far could he slide down? Certainly he won’t take the whole thing in. Was there a mech with just similar size spike?

Soundwave still showed nothing on the outside. He wasn’t moving how a mech normally would during harvest or a good frag. He didn’t keep optic contact – in fact, he was staring away from Wheeljack, ignoring him completely. As his legs bent further, Wheeljack thought he had heard one of the failsafe locks open. Those were meant to unlock under extreme circumstances, to prevent more complicated injuries.

Soundwave’s thighs were almost horizontal, with the upper third of the cone inside him. His red visor was slowly turning pink.

He reached down with one hand, apparently measuring the width of the cone at the current entrance point. Wheeljack caught a shadow of disappointment in Soundwave’s cacophonic energy field. With the same hand, he felt further down until he found one of the etched marks. He seemed to be measuring how far until he’d get to that level.

Wheeljack was strangely fascinated, although he wished he could understand what he was seeing. Clearly, Soundwave only demanded to be left alone until he was done, but the secrecy was far too intriguing for the engineer. Every observation in physics was explainable by some phenomenon, and finding these explanations propelled science forward.

So far all he could tell was that Soundwave, always a reserved mech, wouldn’t display anything he was experiencing, be it pleasure or pain. His EM field was radiating, he couldn’t help that, but even his radiation was encrypted carefully. Would Megatron be able to decode? Most likely yes, if he bothered to. He could have also chosen to ignore Soundwave’s suffering or demand or joy. Well, joy seemed the least likely.

DUTY.

Again, he picked up this single sense in the mess of coded pulses. Was “duty” the most important here, or was it a new addition to the mess, one that Soundwave didn’t encrypt like the rest of his feelings? Or did he consciously allow the Autobot to perceive it? Could he, even on the enormous and probably rather uncomfortable cone, be focused on manipulation? If so, Wheeljack hated to admit it worked. There was nothing he could think about but trying to put duty, nanite production, and Soundwave’s point of view into one logical statement.

Soundwave gave a small hiss. Then he folded his legs, one after the other, so that his former crouch became kneeling. That was an impossibly deep spiking, but he had still not reached the mark he had apparently set for himself.

Wheeljack tried to scan his valve as he took in more than reasonably possible. Was it any good? Of course Soundwave wouldn’t tell. Soundwave wouldn’t tell under hacking or threats of dismemberment. This was what made him Soundwave.

Harvest was so much more fun with Thundercracker. It was familiar, nostalgic, they were slowly bringing down the wall that war had long ago set between the Autobots and Decepticons. Soundwave? The more his valve opened, the more his mind closed down.

And the cone was still sliding inside Soundwave, slowly, steadily, creepily, defying laws of physics and mech engineering. What could be happening inside? Wheeljack found it irresistibly intriguing, and not just because he got used to the tight-valved Seeker. He still remembered spending the gravity-less hours of the night being held by an offline Thundercracker after a fiasco with a too-tight valve. Soundwave was apparently the other extreme.

Was he maybe preparing himself for someone with too big a spike? Trying to convince his own frame to re-adjust until he could take a certain size in? That made as little sense to Wheeljack as Soundwave’s silent, almost motionless “duty”.

The mech pulled his knees backwards, and reached down again to find the marking. It was still several inches away. Soundwave shifted just a little, then lifted both his legs. In the gravity twice as strong as what was normal for him, the large mech put his entire weight on the cone.

With his visor now glowing almost white, Soundwave took in yet another inch, which had seemed impossible. But then, really nothing had changed anymore.

Wheeljack stood there, frozen in shock. Soundwave was kneeling in the air with the large cone halfway in his valve, not saying a word, not giving a beep. Even his electromagnetic field quieted down when his valve stopped taking in more.

About half an hour passed without one flinch, one sound, one cleaner-than-average EM pulse. Wheeljack’s fine scanners registered activity around the cone, but whether it was nanite sprayers or damage reports, there was no telling. It had to be both.

At least he understood why Soundwave insisted on being harvested exactly when gravity was at its highest. When the daily peak of gravitation was over, the mech slowly reached once again for the marking, then started to remove himself from the cone.

His head bowed, then he dropped his feet back on the ground. He was readable this time: shame and defeat were written on his every move. He straightened up, not saying a word. ‘Duty’ was nowhere to be picked up in his field. He grabbed the cone with both hands and pushed himself off as much as he could with shaky limbs. Without looking back, he stumbled away into a small cavity, where he curled up into his small beatbox mode.

Shyly and prepared for any nefarious attack, Wheeljack approached him. A weak ‘stay away’ signal was all he received.

“What’s wrong, Sounders?” he asked with full sympathy. None of the Cassettes were out, and it wasn’t like Soundwave could attack in this used state, so he walked straight to the blue Decepticon. “What is it?”

“Business: not yours.”

“Business, eh?” But seeing he would only meet resistance here, Wheeljack turned back to the cone. It still had residual liquid on it, although frozen in the almost-vacuum. What mattered was the collected amount inside the cone. That Wheeljack could not evaluate just yet.

But when he picked up the harvesting set, it was heavy.


	15. Analysis

**Analysis**

Prowl was pacing on the Victory’s half-reconstructed bridge, angry with the entire situation. Whatever Soundwave had ever done, he had always had good reason for it. Wheeljack had just brought in an amount of lubricant that would normally come from no less than four mechs. Perceptor reasoned that Soundwave had been away from Buzzsaw and Ratbat for millions of years, so maybe his frame had produced extra nanites that the two missing cassettes had not used up. Maybe there was an acceptable explanation of the amount, but the way it had been harvested was upsetting even in the category of harvesting sentient robots for lubricant. Even after seeing Wheeljack return with vials of nanites every second day for weeks, Prowl still refused to accept the practice.

Soundwave’s behavior suspicious as well. Was there a reason for him to want the Victory off planet, even if the Autobots wouldn’t be taking the communication specialist with them? (Of course they wouldn’t!) Or did he want Wheeljack to see him lubricating? That still wouldn’t make sense, apart from Soundwave being masochist in an overly perverted way.

No, that could be ruled out. He might have wanted to reach a certain goal as Wheeljack’s report had hinted, but it wasn’t like Soundwave to do so publicly. Even if he wanted to give nanites and to have his valve stretched further, it made no sense for him to allow an Autobot to stand nearby.

He wanted Wheeljack to see him trying, he wanted Wheeljack to see him in pain. Triggering... compassion? Or guilt. The feeling of guilt makes Autobots horribly irrational.

Well played, Soundwave. But not played well enough.

“Do we have analysis results yet?” Prowl only hoped an unrelated answer would distract him from his own questions.                                                   

“Almost” Perceptor replied. “Of what I can tell, the nanites are less concentrated in here than I have seen in Thundercracker’s best, but it is still incredibly high number in the total amount. I guess Soundwave had damaged himself with that insane method of his, so some of the nanites were held back to repair his own wounds. We will leave this to sediment for almost a day,then decant it. This way we will have a pure oil-based solvent which is good nutrient for nanites. By the time that’s done, Jackie will be back with Thundercracker’s yield. Hopefully I will be able to cultivate TC’s nanites in vitro.”

The Autobot second looked at the microscope.

“You’re telling me even nanite-less lubricant is useful.”

“Actually, very” Perceptor replied. “As long as we have nanites to grow in them.”

“So it never occurred to you that _we_ could give the liquid too? No nanites, but the oil itself. We could have used that Seeker’s production for twice as much repairs.”

Perceptor didn’t feel like transforming only to give his superior a very crooked look, but Prowl felt it on himself even from the microscope’s lenses.

“What?”

“I thought you were against the harvest procedure. But to answer your question: no, that would have only been a last resort. Even the most caring harvest leaves some scratches, which would normally heal, but not when there are no nanites available at all.”

Prowl considered that answer for a moment, then nodded. “I am still against the harvest procedure.”


	16. Explanation, evaluation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have read disturbing things already, please be prepared for more disturbing stuff in this chapter.

 

“Hi, TC! You look gorgeous today!”

“If only I could say the same to you, grounder.” The blue Seeker landed just two meters from Wheeljack’s path. “I hear Soundwave gave you a headache yesterday? Well deserved.”

“Quit teasing me, wingbrain!” The Autobot laughed, and stepped closer to rest a friendly hand on Thundercracker’s amber cockpit. “Though I have to admit I don’t understand how you can put up with him at all.”

Thundercracker smiled and patted the engineer on the shoulder.

“Rather him for third in command, than a hypocrite for leader.”

“I noticed you are unable to tell hypocrisy from honest good will.”

“You suffer from the latter, or so you believe.” Thundercracker replied. “Skywarp is doing well, before you would ask. He’s off chasing shiny pebbles on the nearby asteroids. He might say hello later.”

“I’m glad to hear that” Wheeljack smiled proudly. “Do you have an idea why Soundwave behaves like this?”

“Yes, but good things first” Thundercracker replied. He rested his palms into the dips on the rock. “Ahmm, don’t tell me this would ever get boring.”

“No, it won’t.” Wheeljack said cheerfully. “At worst, we could try out something new. Granted, when I was in similar situation, I was at the age when a mech heedlessly tries to experience everything.”

“Do I want to know?” Thundercracker teased as Wheeljack pushed up the straight tool into his valve with one hand while he was joyfully rubbing his cockpit with the other. The sensation must have been so intense, it took him time to focus back on the Autobot and continue what he started. “Or are you maybe too shy to tell?”

“Shy? Me?” Wheeljack laughed. “Let’s just say the first time I met Ratchet was after the three of us engineering students happened across an unguarded cylinder of industrial-grade oxygen. Lubricant mostly consists of combustible oils. I see, you get the picture.”

“After nine million years of war, I will start fearing you, Autobot,” Thundercracker managed. “You have an unprecedented talent to make things explode.”

“Thank you,” Wheeljack replied. Then he belayed the conversation by activating the collecting vial’s small engines.

Thundercracker was so beautiful when his large frame was shivering with pleasure. His every movement, every pulse, every blink in his brightening red optics were so full of life, and Wheeljack was, deep in his spark, proud to be the mech to be causing all this to him. Thundercracker was moving his hips to the rhythm Wheeljack had chosen, his fingers curled on the rock by Wheeljack’s will. For these few minutes, he had perfect control over the larger mech who didn’t seem to mind this, who could have objected if he wanted to, but didn’t, because Wheeljack had showed him, convinced him, that it would be good for him. (Profitable, too.)

Of course, the Autobot also had to stay true to his word. He had never tried to re-capture the Seeker, never denied him the fuel or the care he deserved. They had worked out a wonderful symbiosis, albeit temporary and greatly dependant on outer factors.

Thundercracker seemed to be happy as a contractor on this uncharted planetoid. What would become of their bond on Cybertron? Clearly, the mech would find, if he looks persistently enough, another source of energon apart from his caretaker. They both would have to face the ruined and mostly offline planet they had left behind. But worse... Starscream would be somewhere around, either as a captive himself, or, if he breaks free, as a beacon of hope for Thundercracker to follow. Wheeljack wasn’t sure how well that would work.

Perhaps not at all.

The first vial was ready, and the pace slowed down to enable the quick change. In that moment, in that sane, sober, unstimulated moment, Thundercracker looked Wheeljack in the optics, and must have recognized the apologetic look of a traitor in his eyes. Wheeljack quickly changed the vials and switched the engines back, forcing Thundercracker’s focus back on the straight tool pleasurably moving up and down in his valve. No matter how hard he tried, however, he couldn’t fight back the accusing, scared, betrayed look of his Seeker. He knew no amount of cuddly aftercare would make up for what was about to come.

With the agreed harvesting done, Thundercracker received his cube of energon and sat down on the bare rock to consume it.

“You have done something, haven’t you? You made contact with the other Autobots. You got your orders to finish us as soon as we’re not needed anymore.”

“No. Communication is still down, and I would never.”

“Shame. That would be the only dignified end for us. I am not going back to a dirty dark cell if I can also choose the Well of All Sparks.”

“You won’t have to. I will be there with you, I will get you out. I will find a way for you to soar your homeland’s skies. But if I won’t... if I fail... I will help you to the easy way out. Thundercracker, you have my word.”

“Skywarp too.”

Wheeljack sighed.

“Skywarp too. But know it would be a horrible waste.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to die either.”

The blue frame curled around his cube, and Thundercracker took huge gulps of it. His shaking was only visible at the tips of his large wings.

“You asked me about Soundwave. In short, we think it’s one of his fantasies. Mostly.”

“Who ‘we’?”

“He wants Megatron’s spike, but old Megs is not quite interested.” Thundercracker continued without answering the question. “There was a custom once, called Redeeming, he must have been daydreaming about that yesterday.”

“The ‘Redeeming’. I’ve never heard of it.”

“It wasn’t much. Oh, it was a show, and most of us were eager to witness it, but then it fell out of use because it was too time-consuming. And Megatron wasn’t exactly a patient guy.”

“That much I know,” Wheeljack replied. He sat down, with his back against Thundercracker’s chest, touching the cockpit with a head fin.

“Get your slaggin’ shoulder-wheel off my wing! You’re smearing me with dust.”

“Sorry.” Wheeljack repositioned himself.

“So tell me about it. ‘Show’? Did you get to see it often?”

“For a while. The point was for Megatron to humiliate lower ranking mechs, possibly in front of all the officers. When somebot screwed things up big time and was caught, Megatron set a lifesize replica of his own spike on the floor next to the throne. You see, it was a punishment mostly for gestalt limbs and other no-ranking fragiles, not for mechs like Trypticon.”

“That’s clear.”

“The culprit had an entire meeting to work himself onto the fake spike. If he managed to do so, at the end of the session Megatron would take him for real.”

“What?!” Wheeljack stared. “He raped them? He raped his own soldiers?!”

“Nobody was exactly holding a gun to anyone’s head to break the landing platforms or to shut down security for an undisturbed nap.”

“That is still horrible!” Wheeljack protested.

“See? That’s why I claim you to be a hypocrite.” Thundercracker took another sip from his cube with a smile. “Those were good times. Victories. We brought down the entire Praxus in one go. I will miss that.”

Wheeljack suddenly realized he liked the previous topic better.

“So what happened to those who couldn’t open up enough?”

“Nothing unusual. They were taken to a brig and normally came out as spare parts. We had more need for parts than for idiots. And as I said, this was only for the low-ranking.”

Wheeljack offlined his optics. The harder he tried not to imagine, the clearer he could see. During almost every Decepticon council meeting, some miserable looser would be dragged in to entertain the others. Megatron was a huge mech, and most likely he was proportionate. And the poor mech was trying to open up enough, humiliating himself in an attempt to save his life...

“So, for at least three reasons, Soundwave had never been sat on the Redeeming Spike. But it might have been his fantasy. It might be still. I could be wrong. I could be lying.”

Wheeljack buried his face in his palms. He had never understood Soundwave, and he definitely wouldn’t start understanding him anytime soon.

“One last question.”

“Shoot,” Thundercracker yawned as he put away the empty cube.

“You have seen these ‘redemption’ attempts. Soundwave too. Was the lubricant usually collected? Measured?”

“It was let to be spilled all around,” was the reply. “Part of the show. Although it provided for a really slippery floor of the throne room afterwards,” Thundercracker snickered.


	17. Counterplot

It wasn’t unusual for Perceptor to be clicking the rhythm of some long-forgotten Cybertronian song while his hands were full. It was only unusual to be noticed by anybot else.

“Give me that cone already” Wheeljack walked in. “I told you it was finished. I need to go. If I don’t get there before gravity peak, we will have to wait an entire day.”

“You mean ‘Thank you for the wiper you set in front of the cam’s lens’ in which case, you’re welcome. Without, it would be covered in lubricant immediately, and there goes your research.”

Wheeljack set his vocalizer to a more resonant tone.

“Thank you for the wiper. For your concern with my research too. But if you don’t give it back, both your work and mine will be for nothing.”

Perceptor sighed and handed the modified harvesting cone back to Wheeljack.

“Good luck, mech. To Soundwave, too.”

Perceptor watched Wheeljack leave, somewhat uncertain if the fistful of detectors was a good idea. His racecar colleague was fascinated by Soundwave’s feat two days ago, and wanted more detailed scans of his valve. Clearly it was more adaptive than seemed possible, so it was an obvious choice to, in the name of science, put sensors into the upper half of the cone Soundwave would be using.

Wheeljack drove away and Perceptor was left with the mundane task of welding the Victory’s lateral nozzle back to its place without breaking the scuttle. He was halfway done with it when his friend pinged him, keenly announcing that Soundwave didn’t mind the modification. Perceptor smiled to himself. Of course not. If Soundwave wanted to keep voyeurs out of his harvesting, he would have told Wheeljack not to watch two days ago.

As for why he chose so... Prowl had a theory that Soundwave was planning for them to subconsciously feel guilty for harvesting him, thus increasing the chance of them allowing Ravage on board. The cat was already familiar with the Victory (it was a Decepticon ship until just two weeks ago) and he would be off sight sooner or later. If he managed to vanish before take-off, he could let the other ‘Cons in and the tide would change. If they only lost him after take-off, Ravage would still be able to contact some of the remaining free Decepticons and be back with reinforcements before the Autobots would return for their prisoners. Or maybe Ravage would stay put until they arrived on Cybertron, which would be a disaster – he would let Megatron out, perhaps along with all the other prisoners.

So, Ravage would have to stay on this planetoid.   There wasn’t even proof that he wasn’t behind the Victory crashing here.

Which would also mean tending to his damage here, or rather, outside. Too bad, Perceptor thought, that he never was exactly confident in his tank mode. He could just roll there to Soundwave’s hiding place and see if he and Wheeljack could fix the black metal-jaguar. Officially, he was a triple-changer, with one form for science and one for fighting. But his tank mode was really clumsy, and he could use his light beam cannon in robot mode too, so he hadn’t really used his tank form in the past decades. Now he simply hated to transform with all the unrepaired damages of the crash-landing.

On the other hand, what could happen to him? There were only three Decepticons on the planetoid, plus a few cassettes who wouldn’t best him. Skywarp wouldn’t attack him after he’d let the two of them repair his valve. Soundwave was being harvested, which is the exact opposite of being able to kidnap an Autobot right now. And Thundercracker was on such good terms with Wheeljack lately, he wouldn’t present danger either.

So Perceptor subspaced his tools, shaking his head at the overly cautious Wheeljack who was still using a teleport-resistant set.

He pinged Wheeljack, asking where Soundwave was in his process of lubricating. The grey racecar replied that he had taken in even more than last time, but still couldn’t reach the line he apparently set for himself as the goal.

::Do you think he’d still be there when I arrive?::

::I thought you weren’t interested!::Wheeljack replied. ::Wait, don’t bother to transform::

::Why not?:: Perceptor asked as he stepped out of the Victory. Not that he minded not having to roll in tank mode.

::A fellow spectator will give you a lift::

Before the red Autobot would have said a word, Skywarp appeared next to him with a purple flash.

“I bet you’ll arrive faster this way,” he grinned, offering a hand to Perceptor.


	18. A deck and his Cassettes

This time, Soundwave’s sense of humiliation was clear to Wheeljack, but then, so were his motives: the Autobot engineer tended to believe what Thundercracker said about it all being a fantasy. The dark blue mech was most likely remembering the good old days when Decepticons were still victorious, and tried to convince himself that, after some self-punishing, everything would be back to the Decepticon version of normal. Also, with his outwardly reserved attitude but undying loyalty, Wheeljack guessed that these daydreams contributed a lot to Soundwave’s production. Being a manipulation specialist, he might have been able to convince himself to lubricate to such thoughts even without anything physically inside his valve. The cone had to be his very conscious choice.

There was no ignoring what Prowl had said about triggering remorse in his onlookers. Two Autobots out here: double the sense of guilt.

Now, if only he would have been able to take in just two inches more, Soundwave would have reached everything he could in this situation.

Skywarp arrived with the familiar sound of VOP and dropped Perceptor straight into Wheeljack’s arms.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?”

“Have I missed anything?”

As a reply, Wheeljack pointed at Soundwave. He was several meters away from the three of them, his face towards a cavity in the barren rocks. He must have been aware of the Autobots’ presence, but chose to ignore them.

“My sweet Primus. You were not kidding when you said he’s only two inches from that mark. Where do you think the tip goes? In his subspace, or is it still there between his parts?”

“I have no fraggin’ idea. Yet. That is why I installed the sensors.”

“Sure thing” Perceptor replied. “Look, he’s wobbling to get it deeper. Just how heavy he might really be? All that weight pressing the cone in...”

“He’s not giving up as easily as two days ago,” a familiar voice noted.

“Warps, have you been watching him too?”

“I checked on his progress a few times. Otherwise he’s pretty boring. As usual.”

VOP. The Seeker vanished.

“I wish he were on our side” Wheeljack mumbled. “Not just his ability. His entire self.”

Perceptor was staring at Soundwave, who was now holding on to the cone with both hands, trying to pull it in. He seemed to be fighting for his life, which, knowing the origin of his supposed fantasy, wasn’t too far from the truth.

“That mech will impale himself.”

“I was talking about Skywarp. I wish he were one of us.”

“But you will get him” Perceptor reminded. “Along with Thundercracker. They live in trines, you will fit in as their boss easily.”

“Don’t think so” Wheeljack replied bitterly. “I would be their jailor, not a trinemate. I will force myself on them. Which is better than turning my back, but... do you understand?”

“You mean if I understand the ‘but’? Yes I do.”

“The more I talk with TC, the more I realize how little I get them. I’m not even sure I could be a good keeper for both.”

“This fraggin’ war has torn us too far apart,” Perceptor noted.

“Or we have always been this different, only we forgot how to be so without causing damage,” Wheeljack guessed. “Apparently, Soundwave gave up. I bet this is when real lubrication starts. Pity I had to leave out the telemetry.”

“It was your idea that Sounders’d be bothered by it,” Perceptor pointed out. “We can check the timestamp on the collector. Mech, that posture is creepy. He really doesn’t move.”

“No, he doesn’t. He’s sitting there, enjoying his own humiliation at failing to meet his imaginary requirements.”

This time, Soundwave didn’t easily walk away after he was done. His frame went limp gradually, his feet reached the ground, but were too shaky to hold him. He appeared to have given all his strength into his ‘personal best’ and now he could barely move.

He was so weak, he didn’t even resist when Wheeljack gently grabbed him by the arms, and helped him off he cone.

“Before you do anything, drink this. You will get better soon.”

Soundwave stared at the Autobot, his visor slowly returning to his normal dark shade of red. Then he pushed the cube away.

“Ravage...”

“I told you, we can’t take responsibility for him this way. Especially without Blaster, how would we be good keepers of a cassette? Just take this cube. Perceptor said we should try repairing his damage here. Let us see what we’re actually dealing with.”

Soundwave unceremoniously lifted the cube to the level of his chest compartment, and the pinkly glowing liquid vanished from the cube.

“Better,” he whispered. The many echoes made his single word resonate to the point it could barely be understood. The almost missing atmosphere didn’t add to audibility either.

“Soundwave: grateful. Ravage: not going to give you trouble.”

After seeing the catformer’s condition, Wheeljack had little doubt about that statement. What Soundwave had so carefully placed into his hands was no more than a fistful of black and silver parts with only some recognizable curves of the limbs and two of his fangs.

“Cliffjumper, glass gun.” Soundwave summed up the anamnesis. “Direct hit.”

Wheeljack tried his best to focus on the here and now. This case would need Ratchet, that was for sure. He never liked the stealthy spy, no, he hated him for sabotaging his every good idea and stealing several of the blueprints, but this.... this was a pile of parts for now.

“First aid: as tools permit. Leaks coagulated.”

“Sure as the Pit we won’t do anything for him in vacuum” Wheeljack injected. “Gravity will be needed too, if we don’t want a peg to float away to the nearest asteroid.”

“Cassettes: agreed to stay behind and die along. Ravage: not in condition to make such decision. We said our goodbyes as possible.”

Wheeljack stared at the black parts in his hands, then decided to call Perceptor for counsel.

Perceptor had been taking the cone apart to get to the memory card of the built-in sensors. He was about to upload the contents into his own databanks when his friend called.

“Almost there!”

He slid the tiny data card under his own wrist panel, and hurried to Wheeljack as fast as he could in robot mode.

“You won’t imagine, he gave over four li.... oh.”

“Ravage,” the grey one said, as if Perceptor had any doubts.

“There goes Prowl’s assumption of him hacking the Victory behind our backs,” the microscope-former murmured.

He knew it was silly to transform here, when he would soon need to transform back, but he had to scan Ravage – if only to determine if he had enough parts left to start working with.

“Those cut surfaces were cleared and coagulated as if done by a professional,” he noted. “Good work, Soundwave.”

“But we will need both atmosphere and gravity to piece him back together,” Wheeljack stated. “This won’t be routine field repair.”

“Definitely not.” Perceptor said. “Also, he has only one cranial plate where there should be two, and I can’t find the fuel pump’s lower half either. And look at those tubes. Jackie, do you still have that molding set?”

“Back home, yes. In Iacon.”

“This will be an awful lot of work,” Perceptor decided. “But doable. Question is...”

“Soundwave: willing to do anything. Megatron: certain to be executed. No other priorities.”

Both Autobots stared at him.

“Do you Decepticons really see no further than extinguishing captives?” Perceptor asked.

“According to what TC said yesterday, no, they truly don’t.”

Perceptor finished his scans on the small spy and laboriously transformed.

“Will you subspace him, Jackie, or shall I?”

“Are you sure it is safe to do so, in his condition?”

“Ravage: highly adapted to subspace storage. Also: been held in subspace until now.”

“So... well. If you really want us to take him, I had better now.”

Wheeljack handed him back to Soundwave for one last time, and transformed to car mode. His boot-lid popped open, giving Soundwave full view of what was going to be his favorite cassette’s place from now on.

The dark mech was stoic and unreadable as always. He placed the silver and black pieces in the trunk without any additional movement. No last murmurs, not a caress. But unlike just a few minutes before, he seemed to be holding on to the last ounce of his dignity.

Then the boot-lid closed down, hiding Ravage’s parts from the dark blue communication officer.

Wheeljack transformed just as ineptly as Perceptor had. Soundwave would have been blind not to notice this.

“Rumble, Frenzy: never used their valves,” he stated in that cold, seemingly unfeeling tone that made the Autobots shiver. “Sole energon supply for sixteen days here: from reserves in Autobot custody. No personal experience of harvest. Know their choices. Mature enough to make their own decision.”

Both Autobots stared at the dark Decepticon, radiating only question marks on their radios.

WHAT?

“You’re offering your cassettes for us to harvest?” Wheeljack clarified.

“Not much personal best would be needed” Soundwave replied. “Nanites of both: pure. Medical grade. Wheeljack, Perceptor: need it. Guess: Autobot Second-in-Command Prowl also. Wheeljack: caring to contractors. Observed several times.”

“And what do you want in return?” Perceptor cautiously asked.

“Ravage in best hands. Autobots in general: think their faction less violent than Decepticons. Statement perhaps true on average. Probability of atrocity when Ravage found: high. Preference: Wheeljack, Perceptor in full capacity by that time.”

The two Autobots shared odd looks. There was truth in Soundwave’s words. There were mechs like Jazz who would sell their own brain modules for Ravage’s services, but then, there were also Sunstreaker and Cliffjumper.

“Well... it’s not like harvesting would hurt them,” Perceptor started.

“Let us talk to them,” Wheeljack sighed.

As it stood, he had been heading towards an awful lot of complications when he made the offer to Thundercracker.

An awful lot.


	19. Cassettes

“Before you say a word, let’s clarify that we’ve been watching you with Thundercracker since the offer was made,” Rumble started. “We know what we’re about to do.”

“I want Soundwave to oversee, because he is cool and you are not!” Frenzy continued. “And he helps us choose the spike. And you will never even consider us to be your contractors. This is a one-time offer.”

Perceptor nodded. “So far, everything is clear.”

“And what do you want in return?” Wheeljack asked.

“Energon!” Frenzy immediately replied. “We are just like the other mechs, only smaller. Same conditions.”

“And our cohort be left alone here,” Rumble added. “We don’t know what will happen to us, but we have been through starvation, stasis locks and involuntary shut-downs thanks to you already. Better that, than being paraded on an Autobot Cybertron as captives. You get our ‘personal best’ and don’t come back ever. Not even Ravage needs to see us offline.”

Now those were harsher conditions, but they made perfect sense to both scientists.

“We will have to get the two Seekers somehow,” Perceptor murmured.

Wheeljack remembered Skywarp catching himself with the teleport-proof vial, and nodded. “I think we can take them on board without posing real security risk.”

“So.... twenty cubes, for the two of us each” Rumble declared. “I calculate you have about one hundred more, and your ship will be ready for take-off in three days at worst. So, forty cubes.”

“Plus our request be respected,” Frenzy reminded. “Fair?”

“Yes.”

“We should discuss with Prowl...”

“He told us to leave him out of anything regarding our harvesting methods,” Wheeljack objected.

 


	20. Precious best

Perceptor stood by and watched as Wheeljack caringly pried Frenzy’s valve open. The small mech was lying on his back in Wheeljack’s palm, his tiny frame shivering quietly as the grey mech brought the freshly crafted harvesting tool closer. He was half reclined, his head on Wheeljack’s thumb, so that he could see everything. Seeing he was more anxious than eager, the Autobot continued massaging him with the same hand. Frenzy looked up to find Soundwave, who only nodded quietly in the background.

So this was why they declined the offer for Soundwave to do the harvest, Perceptor guessed. An enemy Autobot was more trusted to be kind and to show affection than Frenzy’s own carrier.

Wheeljack pushed the straight tool in, and Frenzy shouted something that was neither quite Cybertronian nor organic, but had obscenities from both languages. Once the tiny tool was placed, Wheeljack quickly attached the sleeve and the vial, and lifted the cassette to a vertical position. Frenzy continued to repeat swear words in dialects Decepticons weren’t supposed to know, and his volume only increased with the activation of the vial’s almost-microscopic engines. Just like with Soundwave’s emotions, it wasn’t clear exactly what he felt, but the Autobots guessed it couldn’t actually be bad. Otherwise Soundwave would have interfered. Or so they hoped.

With the tiny mech steadily lubricating for his first time, Wheeljack called for Perceptor to hold the harvesting set in place and support the small frame while he was preparing Rumble. The twins couldn’t agree which of them should go first, and the debate was settled with a promise that one will not finish before the other would get started.

Rumble sounded a lot more eager, and his frame also reacted better to teasing. Perceptor gazed to his side as Wheeljack positioned the second small tool against Rumble’s valve, and slid it in without meeting any considerable resistance. He couldn’t tell, maybe Rumble’s locks were fighting with full force against the intruding false spike, it just didn’t register to a mech who was used to doing the same with a tight-valved Seeker. But again, Soundwave didn’t move to interfere, so maybe it was fine. He couldn’t tell. Maybe Wheeljack was careful when he wasn’t creating weapons.

The tiny ones were both on their feet, with each Autobot holding one of the harvesting sets in one hand and supporting/caressing them with the other. Their visors were both glowing with extasy, and Frenzy’s profanities continued on double volume the moment his stimulating engines were switched off.

“Hey, kid, that was quite enough for the first time.” Perceptor smiled.

“You don’t call a ten million years old mech ‘kid’ even if I’m still a virgin in legal sense!” Frenzy protested. “And it’s unfair to stop just now when I was getting the sense of it!”

“You’re still a kid if you cannot apply self-restraint,” Wheeljack pointed out. Rumble in his hands was still producing actively and his vial was only two-third full. Perceptor saw his colleague bite back a second sentence about the possibility of Frenzy, at some point, maturing in mind. He wouldn’t. He was going to die of energon loss in the distant future, because they were on the losing side of the war.

“Aww, that was amazing!” Rumble exclaimed a minute later. “You, Autobot! I guess I like you. You should have told us about this option earlier. I would have really got to like you, if this had happened before.”

“Make love, not war.” Wheeljack quoted the saying.

“Too late,” Perceptor remarked.


	21. The last harvest

 

Wheeljack finished the last touches on the puller device he was making, and went to check on Perceptor.

“I can’t wait to be able to transform like a normal mech,” he murmured as he rose from microscope mode. “The nanites are growing remarkably in the oil you decanted from Soundwave’s best.”

“Technically, those are his own nanites. Or at least, nanites long ago adapted to his oil. How much do we have?”

“One more harvest of Soundwave and we can grow nanites to refill all the shot Autobots. It’s Thundercracker’s turn today, isn’t it? With that, we will be almost ready with the Victory. Let’s hope he complies as usual, and we’re fine.”

“Prowl wasn’t happy about the prospect of having both him and Skywarp bound without locking them in the brig.”

“If Prowl wants the entire brig repaired, he can do that himself” Perceptor growled. “I’m done with the essentials.”

“I will go and harvest TC. I might be back sooner than normal.”

But then, he wasn’t. He spent the entire afternoon cuddling with the Seeker as he slowly regained his strength, then watched as he took off to the clear sky for what would possibly be his last flight for a long time. He also spotted Skywarp dancing playfully in the vacuum, the slowly setting sun basking his frame in million shades of gold. Who knew black would reflect this gorgeously?

They didn’t talk this time, however. Thundercracker only asked if this would be the last one, then afterwards thanked Wheeljack ‘for being who he is’. The Autobot imagined his Seeker being lead out of the ship in stasis cuffs. It would be a bitter moment of victory, but still a victory. Better than being all-out enemies again.

The next day Soundwave had finally hit his own mark on the cone, in fact he had even outdone his goal by five more inches. It wasn’t solely his own accomplishment: Perceptor had created a simple device that would pull the dark mech’s legs towards a fixed point regardless of the resistance met. Then they gave the controls to Soundwave, and watched from a safe distance as he slowly but steadily got himself dragged onto the cone.

It was an absurd sight: the puller on the ground, the cone on a stand right above it. Soundwave, unflinching as usual, lowered himself on the cone with both his legs chained down, seemingly to the ground. When he had reached what was the maximum of his valve, the chains started to reel up and the mech had been pulled even deeper on the device. Then even more.

“Do we have anything on the telemetry, Perce?”

“Nothing we haven’t observed before. He is opening up as the cone is entering him, and he registers this as physical stimulation.”

That wasn’t more than what could be seen from the outside: no motion apart from the two reels dragging down the communication officer, who was airing encrypted emotions, but remained completely silent.

“I’m glad I set it to a very slow speed,” Perceptor stated. “I just hope he won’t choose this as a way of suicide.”

“He has the right to,” Wheeljack declared. “But I don’t think he could. You too have seen his inner scans: because of his unique build as a carrier, all his essential parts are located around the cassette compartment. There is nothing that could be damaged by a spike of any size, real or artificial. But I’m worried if the welds in his limbs will hold properly.”

“Those will, don’t you doubt my work. I spent an entire night with them.”

Indeed, the unstoppable pull had not affected the repaired leg; it only dragged the motionless mech even more onto the cone. When the top of the device had finally entered his subspace compartment, Soundwave let out one single, but rather audible moan. The reels stopped.

“Look at this!” Perceptor was holding the datapad that was wirelessly connected to the harvesting cone’s telemetry. “Now THAT is lubrication! I don’t know if a masochist registers this as pleasure, but it must be something akin.”

“I just hope his cassettes are all right.”

“That compartment is suitable for six. Now he only has Laserbeak and the twins. Which reminds me, how’s Ravage?”

“I finished the registry of his parts and wrote the full list of what needs to be replaced. Ask again in a month.”


	22. Solutions and further nuisances

**Solutions and further nuisances**

“All systems are ready for take-off,” Prowl announced. “We can go as soon as the planetoid turns towards the center of gravitation.”

“Then it’s up to me to catch our cargo,” Wheeljack sighed. He took two strong pairs of cuffs, and checked that they wouldn’t lock too tight on the Seekers. He hadn’t caused them pain until now; this was not the time to start it.

He dropped into racecar mode, and quietly thanked Frenzy and Rumble for their contribution. Of course, as a result now all three of them were radiating not just their own energy signatures but of Soundwave’s entire cohort, but the Autobots cared little about their appearance after all the hardships they had survived. Besides, the entire Victory was giving off signals of both Thundercracker and Soundwave, and it wasn’t something to complain about. Without them, the ship would have never been repaired.

To his surprise, both winged Decepticons were waiting for him in what could be considered the ship’s proximity. Thundercracker wordlessly shook his head and grabbed the Autobot’s wrist before he could have reached for the cuffs.

“We’re not going. We are Seekers, free creations of the endless sky. I don’t want to be dragged back to a defeated world.”

“I thank you for your help,” Skywarp continued. “But here you always gave us the chance to act by our choice. Now we choose not to be trophies of any Autobots.”

“But... but I would treat you well.”

“I know,” Thundercracker replied. “This isn’t about fear of mistreatment. We’re Seekers. We don’t want to depend on anyone.”

“You would die here.” Wheeljack managed. “TC, I can’t let you starve to deactivation.”

“Rather that, than not being able to choose for myself.” He stepped closer and bent a little to embrace the Autobot. His cockpit was rubbed against the grey chest panels. “Do you understand?”

“I never did. I never understood why any robot would follow Megatron to start with. But I chose to live by Optimus’s ideals, so as long as you don’t hurt anybody, and here I suppose you won’t, it is your decision to stay, and it is to be respected.”

Shattered, Wheeljack opened a public frequency to Prowl and Perceptor.

::I suppose we should unload all the energon we won’t need. This is the least we can do for them::

::Are they not coming?::

::Bring them in!:: Prowl insisted.

::It is their choice::

Wheeljack transformed and rolled back to the Victory. They would need to drag out about eighty cubes of energon, and he only hoped the Seekers and Soundwave would share it fittingly. He wondered how many the mechs had already hidden from each other in various caves. And he didn’t want to know who would win the fight over the last few ones.

After packing, he also had to say goodbye to Frenzy and Rumble. He allowed them one last look at Ravage before he would take off with him, and promised to keep him well.

“And remember what we asked of you,” Rumble touched his leg armor. “Leave us alone. We spent most of our lives hiding. It was our job, but now that the war is over, it’d be unfair if we had to remain hidden.”

“Understood, little mech. You have my word.”

Next to him, Perceptor handed his entire toolkit to Soundwave.

“You’re the most experienced in repairs, and I suppose you would need it most. Take care of your own wounds. Just because we’re also leaving the harvesting devices here, you don’t necessarily have to frag yourselves senseless without care.”

“Soundwave: never senseless. Take care of Ravage.”

He let Laserbeak out too, so that she could also see the black catformer for the last time. By the time Wheeljack had closed his boot lid and transformed, the birdformer was already docking, and the two small mechlings were gone.

Perceptor shook hands with Skywarp.

“It’s a pity you didn’t choose to be my neighbor. It would have been good.”

“For you, yes. But I couldn’t live my life restrained.”

Prowl’s voice distracted Perceptor from the intended answer.

::Come on already, gravity will be back if you keep hugging those ‘Cons!::

::We’re coming:: the other Autobot aired back. ::Just the really last words to my Seeker::

“I’ll miss you,” Wheeljack whispered to Thundercracker in their last hug. “I understand so little of you, but you will always be my first contractor. Goodbye.”

“Have a pleasant flight,” Thundercracker said. “And if you see Starscream, make it better for him. One way or another.”

“I will do that.”

About half an hour later, the Victory took off. Once they maneuvered out from the asteroid field, Prowl deemed it safe enough for a flight straight back to Cybertron. They would be late, they would arrive without their cargo, but their planet still needed them to repair and repopulate it. War was over; reconstruction could slowly begin. There were still captive and several loose Decepticons to handle. He didn’t know what had happened to Megatron. Well, he had been left in Optimus Prime’s custody, so he was probably in a maximum security prison now, pacing from wall to wall, driving all his guards crazy. That mech could not be contained. In fact, none of the Decepticons could be.

About two meters above him, in one of the ruptures opened by the crash and deemed not as important to be repaired, a small red and a just as small blue figure were hiding. Truly, they could not be contained, but they could stay motionless when they really had to. Apart from Prowl, who almost spotted them sneaking on-board while everybot should have been distracted by Laserbeak, they had a safe journey. They sure as the Pit wouldn’t be found on a ship where all three Autobots were radiating their own energy signatures...

Soundwave was wise in planning out their next mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. And a huge thank-you to 12drakon who betaed and kept me writing!


End file.
